SPN FIC - Legacy
Sssshhh. There's fic. Not even gonna bother with a cut -- it's that tiny.
Characters: Dean
Pairings: none
Rating: G
Length: 344 words
Spoilers: Up to ELAC
Legacy
By Carol Davis
My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man
I'm just a living legacy to the leader of the band
Dan Fogelberg, "Leader of the Band"
In the end, there is sight.
A face, beloved since the days green eyes (blue, then) first began to focus. A tattoo, memento of time served, of a band of brothers. A slim silver ring kept in place, third finger, left hand, all these years.
In the end, there is sound.
Hey, Dean. A voice that was is will be instruction, criticism, warning, affection, regret. I want you to look after Sammy. The crackle-spit-snap of fire. I'm proud of you.
In the end, there is taste.
The burn of two fingers of Jack slid across a scarred and battered table, a sixteenth birthday gift bearing the acknowledgment that once a line is crossed, there is no going back. Sweet bitter gluey grease, the main ingredient in diner meals beyond counting. Ashes on the tongue, in the back of the throat: salt and burn.
In the end, there is smell.
Sweat, musk, machine oil, gasoline, stirred into a fleeting hint of beer, of fabric softener. Burning wood. Burning flesh. The dull nothing scent of dust, of earth gone too long without rain.
In the end, there is touch.
The rasp of beard stubble against a soft cheek, so much like the lick of a long-forgotten cat, but without the wet. (Yet wet now; tears tracking slowly down through stubble and dust and sweat.) The feel of strong arms encircling, guarding, lifting, embracing. The crush of weight that exhausted legs could not support, collapsing against a smaller form determined to bear the load.
In the end...
He cannot bear it. He cannot lift what is left behind; it is simply too much. All of it is too much, and he is not his father.
Only with Sam's strength can he place what is left behind atop the pyre.
Yet he sparks the lighter, kindles the flame, on his own.
Characters: Dean
Pairings: none
Rating: G
Length: 344 words
Spoilers: Up to ELAC
Legacy
By Carol Davis
My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man
I'm just a living legacy to the leader of the band
Dan Fogelberg, "Leader of the Band"
In the end, there is sight.
A face, beloved since the days green eyes (blue, then) first began to focus. A tattoo, memento of time served, of a band of brothers. A slim silver ring kept in place, third finger, left hand, all these years.
In the end, there is sound.
Hey, Dean. A voice that was is will be instruction, criticism, warning, affection, regret. I want you to look after Sammy. The crackle-spit-snap of fire. I'm proud of you.
In the end, there is taste.
The burn of two fingers of Jack slid across a scarred and battered table, a sixteenth birthday gift bearing the acknowledgment that once a line is crossed, there is no going back. Sweet bitter gluey grease, the main ingredient in diner meals beyond counting. Ashes on the tongue, in the back of the throat: salt and burn.
In the end, there is smell.
Sweat, musk, machine oil, gasoline, stirred into a fleeting hint of beer, of fabric softener. Burning wood. Burning flesh. The dull nothing scent of dust, of earth gone too long without rain.
In the end, there is touch.
The rasp of beard stubble against a soft cheek, so much like the lick of a long-forgotten cat, but without the wet. (Yet wet now; tears tracking slowly down through stubble and dust and sweat.) The feel of strong arms encircling, guarding, lifting, embracing. The crush of weight that exhausted legs could not support, collapsing against a smaller form determined to bear the load.
In the end...
He cannot bear it. He cannot lift what is left behind; it is simply too much. All of it is too much, and he is not his father.
Only with Sam's strength can he place what is left behind atop the pyre.
Yet he sparks the lighter, kindles the flame, on his own.